


Anthem for a Doomed Youth

by fishcola



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 12:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11275464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishcola/pseuds/fishcola
Summary: When Harry first started to drink, John could almost forgive her.(A short drabble about Harry, nothing more.)





	Anthem for a Doomed Youth

When Harry first started to drink, John could almost forgive her. She was going through a rough patch, you see—a teenage girl, second child, no mum and all that. Felt like her life was falling apart at the seams, probably because it was. Hurtling through high school hormones without a guiding motherly hand. Pulling poor grades and ducking the disappointed stares of a dozen teacher who knew her older, better brother. Coming out to her stern-faced father and getting nothing in response but a shrug. 

John knew that the things that sustained him after mum’s death weren’t enough for Harry. He was fulfilled by the odd half-smile of acknowledgement from Dad, the good marks in his classes, the friendly banter from classmates, the success of winning a wrestling match. Harry didn’t have that. Or didn’t want that. Or didn’t need that.

She needed something else, and she wasn’t getting it, and so she’d go to parties.

John went with her a few times. She brought him along, really—said she wouldn’t be a good sister if she didn’t try to expand his social life. He never really took to it; large groups weren’t his style. He tended to fade out of conversations as the people grew more numerous and drunk and noisy, so by the time everyone was having a grand old time he had slipped away entirely. 

Harry, he observed, was different. In the sloppy chaos of teenaged partiers she grew bright and open. Her immaturity, her temper, her anxiety fell away and left a graceful social creature who could make anyone a friend. She would flit about the room, in and out of a dozen conversations, making strangers and ex-girlfriends laugh with equal ease. It was like seeing a caged bird set free.  
John never understood why she couldn’t stop there. Why she couldn’t drink exactly so much as to have a good time. Three glasses, or six glasses, or whatever it was, and have a good night of partying, and come back home and go to bed. 

But Harry didn’t go to bed. Harry stayed out. Harry never left a party, her friends said, ‘cept to go to another party or to get to school in the morning. Harry didn’t sleep. Harry blacked out, then woke up at 4am spitting curses or vomit or most likely both.

John thought his wayward sister was just working out the classic teenage bad decision-making. She’d grow out of it, he figured. She’d get tired of wicked hangovers four nights a week and realize eventually that it wasn’t worth it and quit. 

Eventually, John figured out that she wasn’t gonna change. Just like he wasn’t going to stop aching for the whiff of sand and the sharp crack of bullets. She wasn’t going to become reasonable and regular and healthy and boring like that. 

John could almost forgive her.


End file.
